


The Bad Idea.

by Oswald



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Morning After, Nanu lets his pokemon have full run of the station, One Night Stands, Scars, all characters are of age in this, going to be in the second person but may switch pov, idk if i'll write more but I want to, nanu's got a stocking fetish, the You in this is Moon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-15
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-08 18:16:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8855899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oswald/pseuds/Oswald
Summary: Life sure is fun when you're sleeping with the old guy in the police jacket
 
 
   EDIT: I accidently posted the unedited version of this fic, whoops, here have the ACTUAL version





	

**Author's Note:**

> idk what i'm doing.   
>  **(Moon is 18+ in this fic)**

Let it be known: you know this is a bad idea. It's a __really__ bad idea – Nanu's a few decades older than you, he's cold, he's blunt. Hell, the entire walk through route 17 is dead silent, the sounds of your steps the only thing breaking the silence.

  
  


You encounter a raticate just as the station comes into view. Nanu's got his Persian out before you can even grab your pokeballs.

She's pretty good, running the raticate off in a matter of seconds and then suddenly his hand is around your waist, leading you forward. It's a firm grip; you lean into it, just barely clutching your fingers into his jacket.

It's a weird moment of intimacy. Neither of you are entirely comfortable, but neither of you want it to end.

The Meowths that normally dominate the police station have made themselves scarce. You can see the ruby-red glint of Absol's eyes, watching as Nanu ducks his head against your neck and begins to suck marks into your skin. He's surprisingly forward – you weren't really looking for slow and romantic, but he's already got a hand shoved down into your pants, slipping slender fingers into your panties. They find their mark, the rough pads of his fingertips brushing against your clit. You yelp and he _growls_ , pawing at your shirt.

“You're in a hurry.” It comes out more breathless then you'd like, pushing him back for a moment to yank your shirt over your head. You throw it to the floor, pulling him forward to press your mouth against his. It's not so much kissing as much as it's __biting__. Teeth tug on lips, tongue, anything that your mouths can find. You're pulling him towards the stairs that lead (you assume) to his quarters because you __really__ don't need his Absol eyeing you for the entire event.

  
  


The trail of clothes leads up to the tiny loft, just barely big enough for a twin sized bed and a dresser. You're starting to pull down your over-the-knee socks when he stops you.

It takes you a moment, but you can see that blush spreading on his face.

“You're gross, old man.” You laugh, nudging his bare chest with your foot. It's pure luck that you wore the brand new stripped ones (because your black ones are __rancid__ from all that walking).

It starts like this: he grips your hips, pressing open mouthed kisses until he gets to your core, pulling your panties down and moving his mouth against your slit.

  
  


Or, it starts like this: when you've screamed through the first orgasm, he lifts his head and you can see him licking your cum from his lips. He stops you before you can apologize, leaning up to kiss you. It's...soft. Like he's trying to be gentle. You can taste yourself on his tongue

  
  


Or, it starts like this: you've never done this before. You've __never__ done this before, hell, you've barely even __thought__ about it. You've got enough on your plate. After all, becoming the first champion of Alola is a surprising amount of work – searching for the UBs, working as the International Police liaison, battling this person, and that person, and defending the title. It's a __lot__.

So when you reach out to “return the favor”, and your hands are shaking, he notices pretty quickly. He guides your hands back down onto your belly, wiping his own against his mouth to clean off the, er...mess.

“I'm fine.” He says when you protest. He's sitting up, reaching into the dresser and you watch him for a moment. He's not a bad looking guy – it's obvious that he's losing some muscle tone with age, but it's still pretty damned impressive. There are scars that criss cross over his belly and arms, stories that you'll probably never hear. You sit up slowly as he fumbles with a box of condoms and trace your fingers down the long one across his left pec.

He jumps (well...there's a first for everything) and then eyes you.

“When I first started in the force,” he takes your hand and guides it to the crest of the scar, “Some punk sicked their lycanroc after me – nearly got me turned into pokechow.”

“Were you scared?” It's a stupid question – of course he wasn't, it's __Nanu__ _,_ he's got no-

“Terrified.” he grins

...Like you said: first for everything.

  
  


Or...or it starts like this – he rolls onto his back and guides you on top and says “You set the pace, go as slow as you need to.”

And it takes a minute – it takes __several__ minutes, because it _**hurts**_.

And then it doesn't hurt so much.

And then it doesn't hurt at all.

And then he's got his mouth pressed against your neck again, gripping your hips with calloused fingers as you bounce and you're pulling his mouth lower, lower, until you feel teeth on the skin of your breasts and there's this obscenely wet sound of skin meeting skin, and groaning, and keening, and holy __fuck__ you're so glad you agreed to do this.

  
  


Maybe it starts with all those. Maybe it starts with _none_ of them.But it ends like this: you're both panting, dotted with sweat. It feels weird to go from feeling so full to feeling so empty. In the darkness, you pull your hand across the bed until you find his, and he tangles your fingers together. He rolls you onto your side and pulls you close to his chest and grumbles into your hair that he doesn't really expect it, but if you stay until morning, he'll make you breakfast.

  
  


And so, just to spite Mr. Negativity himself, you stay until morning.

  
  


  
  


***

  
  


  
  


The police station borders on spartan, sparsely decorated with plain, warn furniture, and shedded fur. There are pokebeds everywhere – literally  _everywhere_. The police station, which contains little-to-no people things, is chock-full of pokemon accessories. Everything from beds, to toys, to treats, to the actual pokemon themselves. The pack of meowths flock to him as he trudges down the stairs in front of you, all of them giving you curious glances.

  
  


Nanu greats them all by name and walks stiffly to the kitchen. He's wearing these boxer shorts with little rockruff paw-prints all over them and you can't help but giggle as one of the Meowths tries to climb up his leg and nearly yanks his boxers down. He shoots you a half-hearted glare – it's cute.

“I can't believe you're making me make breakfast.” He grumbles as he steps over a snoozing Krookodile.

“Hey, you promised.” You bury your face into his jacket (you totally stole it, but what is he going to do, arrest you?)

  
  


The sounds of cooking fill the small police station. You take the time to look around the “living room” (more like the pokemon playroom, but hey, who's going to judge a man that loves his pokemon).

Honchkrow opens one lazy eye and then goes back to sleep, letting his feathers ruffle. Absol watches you with amused, unblinking eyes. He hadn't moved from last night, still smirking at you with that knowing little smile. It's...a little unnerving to see a pokemon __that__ human-like, but such is life.

Sableye patters over to you and reaches her claws up, making "graby-hands".

"Does your daddy let you do this?" You ask her softly, leaning down and gathering her up in your arms.

She's a lightweight, barely more than thirty pounds (and to think, when you first moved here, you could barely pick up Mom's meowth). She likes the attention, it seems (but after a moment, you're starting to suspect she's more interested in the studs that you managed to keep on all night).

  
  


On the battered coffee table are pictures – simple black-frames containing well-faded photographs. You plop onto the couch (narrowly avoiding Absol's tail and balancing Sableye in your lap) and take them in hand, looking them over. Moments frozen in time: a younger Nanu in his old uniform, a group of tiny Meowths all huddled around him (that would explain the flock all meowing for their breakfast), Po Town when it wasn't overrun with Guzma's entourage...

(There's a small, yellowed one of Nanu and another man that looks _just_ like him standing together. Nanu pokes his head into the room to ask how you like your eggs and mentions that the other man is his cousin that lives in the “states” – wherever that is – and works in the military. He makes a face for a moment and mentions that the other one's a nice guy but “kind of weird” - which is an accomplishment in of itself because __Nanu__ is kind of weird.)

  
  


He calls you over when breakfast is ready – everything actually smells pretty good. Eggs, miso soup, toast (a LOT of toast, where the hell did he get that much bread?!). Sableye wiggles, claws tugging gently on your ear.

He grins at you when you look at the table.

“Bet you thought I couldn't cook, huh?” He can certainly sound smug when he wants to.

  
  


  
  


***

  
  


  
  


Eating is a quiet affair – Nanu gets the pokemon's breakfasts before he sits with you and you wait for him. Mom always said you never start breakfast before the host, after all. Sabeleye snoozes in your lap.

  
  


“I saw that picture,” you start, taking a forkful of fluffy eggs, “The ones with the meowths – it's cute.”

He grunts, sipping his coffee, “Bad breeders, one of those hoarder cases.

“Aren't __I__ a hoarder?” You joke, snatching a piece of toast.

“This was different.” Nanu eyes you like he's actually being serious,”You've heard of shinies, right?”

“Of course.” You've never really got the concept of shiny pokemon. They're pretty, sure, but the cult around them just always confounded you.

  
  


“These guys,” he motions towards the eating pack, “Came from a couple trying to get shinies – they'd bred one a few generations back and got a pretty penny for it. Guess they were trying to keep the gravy train going.”

You pause your fork halfway to your mouth, “Aren't those incredibly rare?”

“Yep. Guess they thought if they used the same mother, she'd produce more litters with them. Didn't go well.”

  
  


He tells you about how they'd kept the meowths trapped in the house, how they'd be forced to breed and rebreed, and rebreed, and how disgusting the house was. How, with all of the technology readily available, people still acted like dumbasses. __Yikes__.

You put your fork down, a little green around the gills.

  
  


Nanu notices, grins at you (it's never a particularly friendly grin, is it?), “Too much for you, kid?”

“It's not really breakfast conversation, is it?”

He laughs (he sounds genuinely amused) and goes back to his coffee, “I suppose it's not. But all that aside, when we were able to get the pokemon out, I took this pack home. They'd all bonded particularly close, I guess they wouldn't let anyone separate them, and there was no chance of getting them re-homed if they were going to be so stubborn. They've been with me ever since.”

  
  


Persian lets out an indignant meow at that, trotting over and nudging Nanu's thigh.

“This one's the ring leader – my “pride and joy”, I guess. The only one that's evolved.”

  
  


You recognize her by the crystal around her neck – the darkinum z-crystal. She gives you a haughty meow and nuzzles closer into Nanu's thigh. She's certainly a pretty Persian, when you think about it (Nothing close to __your__ Persian, but you may be a little biased on that)

 

Breakfast is finished in relative quiet.

 

***

 

Your plan was to get back onto the road in the morning – you really should get back to the league and see if there were any new trainers trying to take down the Elite 4 (it's been a busy few weeks, now that the Elite 4 has finally be established in Alola, all kinds of trainers have shown up)

That was your plan.

 

But Nanu's really very good with his hands. Even with his ever vacant stare, he's practically turned you into putty in seconds, his hands moving with a surprising grace over your breasts.

“It's Sunday.” He grumbles and you can feel his cock growing hard against your thigh, “Most people take off Sunday.”

 

That's surprisingly sound reasoning. And hey, you could have sworn you'd seen some rainclouds when you peaked out the window this morning.

Besides, they'll call you if they need you back at the League – everyone has your phone number.

You can stay a few hours more.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Didja get the Overwatch joke? Didja?  
>  
> 
> I really love the idea that Moon will sometimes just show up at Nanu's station and make herself at home. Sometimes Nanu will show up to her curled up with the cats and reading her dex.
> 
>  
> 
> I'd like to get into UBs with these guys, we'll see where my head is going when I get back to it.
> 
> **Find me on**[Twitter](https://twitter.com/OswaldSleepy) and [Tumblr](https://oswaldsleeping.tumblr.com/)  
>   
> 


End file.
